Mending Souls
by Valeriasg1
Summary: The war against the Wraith has reached a critical point. The plan that should have wiped out the remains of the enemy armada is jeopardized when Colonel Sheppard is critically injured. AU, major character death, Weir/Carson


**A/N:** Beta'ed by the lovely Ky

"What

"What?" Carson's head snapped up from the chart he was reading and he looked incredulously at his boss and the man standing half a step behind her.

The commotion in the infirmary and the sounds of the battle raging on the surface had drowned most of her speech and he wasn't sure whether she had really made that request or if he had misunderstood her words. He fervently hoped the latter.

"I want to try the gene therapy." She repeated loudly, leaving no room for doubts.

Carson sighed and replaced the chart on his desk; looking back briefly as yet another gurney was wheeled into the crowded room. A still body under a bloodstained blanket. A marine followed, nursing a broken arm close to his chest.

"Why?" He asked curtly. Elizabeth had always refused to undergo the procedure to act as a neutral party during negotiations and avoid being perceived by other societies as too closely related to the Alterans. The questions flowed freely in his head, but in the last months he had learnt the precious lesson of keeping words to a minimum in order to act as fast as he could. It had saved their lives more often than he cared to remember.

"I'm piloting the second jumper." That voice, rough and harsh, hadn't belonged to the woman Carson had met more than ten years ago. The same could be said about her eyes. Cold and hard as diamonds, they didn't show any sign of the enthusiasm and wonder that used to shine in them and that had given him and the others a reason to keep on fighting, and hoping. War had hardened them all, but the change in her had been frighteningly tangible.

He made to open his mouth and voice his objections, but she anticipated him by lifting a hand – the one she didn't use to shoot – and cut him off.

"The decision's already been made." Her jaw was set and her shoulders squared. Her fingers twitched nervously next to her thigh holster and Carson found it difficult to remember a time when she wasn't this edgy.

Carson met Rodney's eyes briefly over Elizabeth's shoulder and read the silent plea in them.  
"Elizabeth, there's no guarantee the therapy will work on you and, even if it does, flying a jumper requires training and some natural skill."

"What other choice do we have? Our main pilot is down and there's no time to fill someone else in on the plan details." A sudden sadness flashed across her stern features as her eyes shifted momentarily to the curtained area at the far right of the room where John Sheppard lay in a medical coma. Carson followed her gaze and an unpleasant weight settled on his stomach at the thought of his injured friend and the burns stretched over his body.

"I thought I was going to pilot that jumper." He had volunteered for the mission upon assessing John's injuries after the Colonel's ship had been caught in the explosion of two enemy darts two days earlier. Finding him alive had been a miracle but Carson, although he'd never voice that thought aloud, had come to feel that a sudden death would have been more merciful to him.

"You are needed here. You have to see that these people will get back on their feet."

_Including John_. The unspoken words would linger in his mind for years after that day; haunt him every time he looked into Elizabeth's eyes.

The only warning he had before Rodney finally broke into the conversation was a roll of his eyes and a flapping hand. "Can't you see this is totally insane? There's plenty of doctors here already, you're the leader of this expedition and people look up to you. You can't just go up there and play Star Wars." He could see Elizabeth's eyebrows knit together in a threatening scowl for only a second before she pivoted on her heels, her short hair barely affected by the sharp movement.

"If we don't so something soon, there won't be any expedition to worry about!" Her voice raised dangerously, startling some of the nurses who hadn't been there long enough to get accustomed to Elizabeth's temper. "I've spent enough time sitting on my ass and sending people out to die. You said it right, I am the leader of this city and I will go down with it, if it's necessary. It was my decisions that led us here, my wrong decisions, and I'm going to make up for them."

A warm hand – Carson's – came to rest on her forearm. She had probably sensed his intentions, for she didn't react as aggressively as he might have expected. In fact, she stilled. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You didn't make all the choices by yourself. You were influenced by the IOA, Homeworld security, us… this is too big a burden for a single person to carry alone for ten years." Especially for someone who was cracking under the weight of it, he added silently.

Elizabeth disengaged from his gentle hold and sat on the edge of his desk, her arm stretched out.

"I assure you, I'll be hard on the Wraith only. Now, let's not waste any more time and get on with the therapy."

Ignoring the mumbling coming from Rodney behind him, Carson called a nurse to assist him in the procedure.

Out of love or out of fear, Elizabeth Weir always got what she wanted from her people.

The therapy, much to Rodney's chagrin, worked flawlessly. Ten years of experience in operating alteran devices had attuned Elizabeth to the genetic technology behind the ancient systems, and she proved to be an incredibly fast learner, flying the jumper smoothly and efficiently through the clear water beneath the city.

Confidence started to seep into the determinedness that had been one of the most admirable qualities in Elizabeth Weir, bringing a gleam in her eyes that Carson both longed for and feared at the same time. He wanted to take it as a sign that his Elizabeth – the _real_ Elizabeth - wasn't lost to them; that her ideals, her kindness, and her compassion still simmered under the stone that encased and threatened to choke her.

Rodney interpreted it as the ultimate evidence of their leader's irremediable folly, but Carson refused to let himself be dragged down by the scientist's equally irremediable fatalism.

With the thick, smoky cloud of darkness and death engulfing the city and their lives, he needed to hang on to the only glimmer of light that flashed through the pitch black, even if it was just in his head. And so it seemed, as Elizabeth's attitude never faltered in the following days.

She had stopped listening to Teyla as well, ignoring her when her arguments became too uncomfortable for Elizabeth to hear. When she hit too close to the barriers she was desperately trying to keep upright, her defences crumbling, she stroked back with redoubled force. She had never believed in the old saying "attack is the best defence", but as of lately, it seemed to have become her motto.

It was amazing, the speed with which she had assimilated war strategies and applied them to the ongoing battle between her mind and her heart. But, like in war, sides weren't always well-defined and lines were blurred. Carson felt her slip through his fingers just as their situation in Pegasus had a couple of years ago.

John had always been by her side then, supporting her decisions or contrasting them when he felt that she was acting irrationally, grief blinding her better sense. But John wasn't there anymore, his life hanging on by a thin thread that was eventually destined to snap.

Elizabeth was falling apart under their very eyes and Carson wasn't sure whether they would be able to keep her in one piece or not.

He turned to watch his leader as she dozed in a bed next to John's. The dim light coming from his desk lamp cast a long shadow over her sleeping body. It enveloped her like a thick blanket, a tangible reminder of the dark thoughts running wild and relentless through her head.

Her arm was stretched out over the small gap that separated her from John's still form. The back of her hand rested gently against John's cheek, the one where the skin hadn't been scorched by fire and radiation and he could still feel her soothing touch. Or at least, Carson hoped he would, even with the massive amount of medication that was constantly pumped into his veins to keep him unconscious.

The infirmary was uncharacteristically quiet at night. Only the occasional coughing bouts of a patient and the shuffling of the nurses' clogs disturbed the steady beeping and buzzing of the machinery.

Even the battle seemed quieter at night. Both sides retreated to their shelters to count their losses and formulate new, more effective strategies. Drones were still being fired when small clusters of remote-controlled darts left the protection of the hive to blow themselves up against their near-depleted shield. But the explosions sounded distant even to Carson's attentive ears, muffled by the thick layers of the planet's atmosphere, and they weren't loud enough to shake Elizabeth from her dreamless slumber.

He glanced at the empty chair on the other side of John's bed, where Ronon usually sat, watching like a giant guard-dog over his fallen leader. He'd gone to fetch something to eat from the mess hall. The doctor hadn't left the infirmary in days, sleeping on vacant beds and relying on his friends for food and coffee. He needed to be ready for any kind of emergency. He felt exhausted, but he couldn't bring himself to leave and go to his quarters when so many lives depended on him and his crew, reduced to a handful of surgeons and nurses.

They'd been cut from Earth for longer than a month now, so no replacement personnel was available. They were quickly running out of supplies and he tried not to think of the colleagues he'd lost during the dozens rescue missions to retrieve the wounded.

He leaned heavily against the side of Elizabeth's bed, easing some of the weight from his aching back. The relief was almost immediate, if little, and he huffed a tired sigh, his eyes drifting from John's swollen, blistered face to Elizabeth's pale, tired one. In her sleep, her features were free of the lines that had started forming at the corners of her eyes and lips in the last couple of years.

Her eyes moved frantically under the closed lids and Carson wondered if she ever found peace, at least in her dreams. In the safety of the curtained area, he let his fingers brush lightly over the short curl resting on her cheek, dark against the ivory paleness of her skin. He tucked the thin bang of hair behind her ear, then moved his hand away and back to his lap with the other.

Elizabeth was a light sleeper, and he felt slightly guilty, violating her privacy by touching her when she wasn't aware, as comforting as his gesture was meant to be.

But comforting to whom, Carson wasn't exactly sure.

Recovered from his moment of weakness, he pushed himself away from the bed and walked to the other side of John to check his IV. The medication dripped steadily from the plastic bag into the thin tube and then into John's veins through a long needle that disappeared beneath the skin of his hand, numbing him from his pain.

Sheppard was one stubborn, tenacious guy; Carson had seen several cases like his during his years as a doctor, and only few had resisted for so long before their bodies had succumbed to the poison that slowly destroyed them from both inside and outside.

He sighed warily, looking at the fresh bandages that hid the burns from view and protected John from further infections, and resumed his place at his desk. He took a sip of leftover tea from his chipped mug, grimacing when the lukewarm beverage slid down his throat.

He pushed the mug aside and figured it would be better to wait for Ronon to come back with refreshments. He placed his head on his crossed arms and closed his eyes, exhaling another tired sigh. He found it difficult to relax and block out the sounds of the battle: the final attack was scheduled for dawn in Lantean time and something beneath his skin was itching with anticipation; some kind of quiet, impalpable excitement that seemed to have taken over the city in the last few hours.

One way or another, the following day at this time, the war would be over. After so many years of fighting, Carson couldn't quite wrap his mind around it. Maybe he should have listened to his own advice and taken a sleeping pill himself when he'd administered Elizabeth half a tablet, several hours earlier.

He shifted his head until he could easily see the black silhouette of his leader from under half-closed lids. Even if he wasn't in any condition to sleep, he took advantage of the moment to relax his sore muscles.

It was going to be a long day.

The exulting scream shook the entire city when it came. The big explosion that preceded it had made the infirmary floors tremble under his feet, his ears ring and pound and his heart clench in dread for the fate of the pilots that were leading the surprise assault to the few hive ships that were holding the city at a siege.

The last of the entire Wraith fleet.

His thoughts had never strayed from Elizabeth for too long during the time she'd been gone, and as the detonation filled the air and a white light outshined the morning sun, blinding him, images of her were pushed once again to the forefront of his mind, and he prayed that she was still alive.

It wouldn't have made much of a difference if the attack had been unsuccessful, yet he couldn't help the pangs that made his insides twist and churn for the silent, endless seconds that followed the explosion.

Everyone in the infirmary put their tasks on hold; all faces turned in the direction of the control room, fervently waiting for news. Carson wondered how the sky looked like right now, whether the signs of the battle would be visible from the planet, or it was just another sunny day on Lantea.

And then the communication system crackled alive in every single room of the city, and a tired, slightly bewildered, but incredibly relieved voice echoed off the steel walls, washing like a blessing over the surviving crew.

"We have a kill." Elizabeth panted.

The city erupted in cheers and applause and Carson finally released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"A few of us need some patching up," She added when the commotion subsided to a background buzz. "I'm afraid the infirmary crew will have to delay the celebration for a few hours. I need two gurneys in the jumper bay in three minutes. Weir out."

As if he'd just received a caffeine boost, Carson spun on his heels and called for his nurses, his voice loud and clear in the large ward. He grabbed an emergency kit and rushed out of the infirmary.

He touched the blue dot that marked the jumper bay on the transporter screen, snapping on a pair of latex gloves even as he disappeared and rematerialized in the other side of the city. Rodney was at his side as soon as he stepped out of the compartment, face red and eyes as wide as he'd ever seen them.

"You should have seen that. God, it was awesome. The shield went down just before the strike, and for a moment there I thought we were completely screwed, all we could do was cloak the city but they obviously knew our position." Words flowed quickly out of the scientist's mouth, and he emphasized his recounting with wide gestures. "But then the other explosion came, and the light filled all the sky, and I can't tell you how I felt when I saw the Wraith life-signs disappear from the radar. Dear Carson, you should have been there. We kicked their sorry green asses like you wouldn't believe." He finally seemed to have run out of fuel, and finished his speech with a vigorous, friendly slap on his shoulder.

"I had other things to take care of at the moment, Rodney, but thanks for the report." Carson said patiently, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he took place next to the marines holding the gurneys, emergency kit at the ready, next to the empty parking slots. McKay's enthusiasm was contagious, and he felt pervaded by a sense of euphoria at the thought that he would live to see another day, and the beginning of an era of peace for the Pegasus Galaxy.

The seal above the top of the tower, high above them, slid open and, one after another, the battered jumpers lurched downwards and hovered briefly over their heads before each landed, more or less gracefully, in its designated place. It would take at least a good couple of weeks to fix the damage to the small ships.

Colonel Lorne and his second pilot were the first to emerge from his jumper. They were both shaken, but they looked fine at first glance. "Jumpers One and Six." He gestured to the medical team.

Carson's heart sunk. Elizabeth was piloting jumper One. He'd heard her voice, safe and sound, just minutes earlier, but he was painfully aware of how little it could take a man to bleed to death if the femoral artery was ruptured. Or for an internal injury. If her jumper was too close to the hive ships when the bomb went off, she could have been hit by radiation waves. Or severely burnt, like John. He didn't even want to think about that possibility.

He rushed forward to the space vessel as the hatch lowered, and he saw, to his temporary relief, Captain Monroe support a visibly limping Elizabeth as he helped her out of the jumper. He saw the red of the blood, as bright as the shirt she was wearing under her uniform jacket, trickle down a gash on her forehead, and then he saw white.

The white of her exposed kneecap, surrounded by more red and the black of her ripped trousers. A large metal splinter seemed lodged in the side of that same knee. She smiled at him, but her lips only twitched into a grimace as the marines helped Monroe lower her onto the gurney.

"Lieutenant Fadden?" She asked in a whisper. He grasped her hand tightly and turned towards the other wounded. Caldwell's second pilot had a few cracked ribs and a broken arm. "Aye, he'll be as good as new in less than a month."

That seemed to relax her a little. "The city's safe now." She said, more to herself than him, when they exited the transporter into the infirmary.

"It is." He gave her hand a squeeze and then reluctantly released her.

He glanced at her knee with a worried glance. It didn't look good and that kind of surgery was tricky under any circumstance, let alone with their scarce equipment and lack of a specialist. He disposed of his gloves and sent a nurse to set the O.R for the operation. He felt Elizabeth's eyes on him as he concocted the anaesthesia. A small shiver ran up his spine and into his neck.

He wondered what she was thinking now that the war was over; now that the weapons, the constant alert, and the hard-nosed attitude weren't necessary anymore. Which Elizabeth would he face once she woke up from surgery?

"Will you operate on me?" She asked. A nurse cut the leg of her pants around her upper thigh and then proceeded in stitching the cut on her forehead.

"Yes. I won't keep it from you, Elizabeth. It's a difficult procedure, and it might never heal properly. I won't know what I can do until I take a better look at it."

She was pensive for a moment, and then nodded. "I am confident you will do your best, as always." She paused briefly, licked a little blood from the corner of her mouth. A shadow passed over her face. "What about John?"

"No change since you left." He shook his head, and both of them glanced at the closed curtain for long seconds before the nurse placed the mask over Elizabeth's nose and mouth.

"Take long breaths." He tapped gently with two fingers on Elizabeth's shoulder, and smiled at her droopy eyes. "I'll see you in a few hours."

He learned afterwards, when he emerged from the O.R in a blood-spattered gown, sweat rolling down his beard-roughened face, that John's body had shut down a couple of hours earlier, in the presence of his team.

She was looking the other way, hard, lucid eyes focused on a nurse who was changing the sheets of a nearby bed. Carson was leaning against the edge of her bed, just like the night before, careful not to shift the mattress and move the injured leg, which was heavily bandaged and enclosed in a metal splint.

Thankfully, it looked worse than it actually was. Her tibia was fractured, but the delicate bones in her knee, those exposed by the tear in her muscles, were left untouched.

He felt guilty for not being with John when he died, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how the remorse was eating at Elizabeth's insides right now. It wasn't her fault, but he wasn't going to voice that particular thought to her. It was as if John had waited until Atlantis was safe again before letting go. Just a stupid notion, Carson mused, he knew that things didn't work out that way in the medical world. Yet, it would have been a very "John" thing to do.

"You made it. You saved your city." He tried to remind her of the grandiose accomplishment of the past day.

"Not yet." She threw a glance outside the window and at the glittering stars that dotted the black velvet of the Lantean night, and their undulating reflection in the water. No anomalous lights, no explosions. The world outside was as silent and peaceful as Carson remembered ever seeing it.

But battles were still being fought, in the maze of rooms and corridors of their own home. In the split second between the moment their shield failed and the explosion that put an end to the dominance of the Wraith in the galaxy, part of the crew from a hive ship managed to beam directly in the city, armed to their pointy teeth and ready to kill. Not for hunger, but for hatred.

The three darts that had escaped that same ship had been almost immediately shot down by a few well aimed drones, but not before they had the chance to seriously damage the east pier and the central tower.

"Ronon's and Colonel Lorne's teams will make a quick job of getting rid of those stray fellows." He reassured her, and there was no reason to believe otherwise. The area had been secured, and there was no threat to the expedition members that weren't occupied with the hunt, or so Rodney had said.

"True." She conceded, with a slight nod of her head, and finally turned to face him. She was incredibly pale, the few lights in the room giving a slight yellowish tinge to her skin. Her lips were dry, and drained of color, her cheeks sunken. Stress and fatigue had given her a set of dark circles under her eyes. Given how she'd mistreated her body in the last few months – hell, the last ten years, he thought as he smiled fondly at the memories -, this was the best he could expect.

"I can't believe it's over. After so many years…" A great sadness shadowed the green of her eyes. Carson would take that sadness over the dull numbness or the anger any day.

"It does still feel a little unreal." He agreed, hesitating a little before adding "but you can finally relax. Take some time to heal." He tilted his chin towards the splinted knee, but he suspected that she was perfectly able to read between the lines.

"In time." She said, offering the smallest hint of a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "With the help of my doctor."

But then her gaze fell on the small pile of personal effects that lay on the bedside table; an energy bar, her gun, an Athosian amulet that he suspected John had given her, and her shirt, neatly folded under the other items.

The liquid green of her irises hardened into glossy stones as they focused on the weapon. She stretched out an arm and picked it up, grasping the handle loosely, but with expert fingers. She held it at eye-level, her thumb stroking the safety.

"Damnit!" She shouted, startling Carson, and hurled the gun away from her with all the force she could find in her arm. The weapon hit the legs of a tool cart with a loud metallic clang, and a set of clean instruments fell clattering to the floor. A nurse appeared immediately at the door with a hurried expression on her face and Carson dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

Elizabeth was panting lightly and he could see the thin trail of a tear gleaming under the light. She collapsed back against the pillows and huffed a shaky sigh. "Go back to your patients. I'm sure you have plenty who need your attention more than I do."

Her tone might have been soft and the words might not have been uttered, but the meaning was clear. She didn't want him around while she was breaking down. Still, it sounded more like the woman he used to know than the barked orders he'd heard in the entire previous year.

"You're right; I don't want them to think I'm playing favorites." He forced a smile upon his lips.  
"I'll pass by before heading to my quarters. I forbade any visit for today, so I suppose the others will show up first thing in the morning." He covered her hand with his for a brief moment, and squeezed gently. He felt her reluctance in releasing him when he moved away, and he was sorely tempted to listen to that gesture instead of her voice, draw up a chair and sit beside her until she'd put her pride aside and talk about her pain. "Just call me if you need anything, okay?" He said, but he wasn't expecting her to take up on his offer.

"Have you seen Elizabeth?" A very frustrated Carson asked Rodney. "I told her half-an-hour ago that she could have a short walk and I haven't seen her since."

"Balcony." The scientist answered without lifting his head from his laptop. "She wandered out there some time ago. Now, if you don't mind, I'm kind of running a diagnostic on the Stargate here."

Carson tossed him a 'thank you' and started moving towards the balcony off the control room. He was a little surprised to learn that she was there; in the two months they'd spent in close contact, working on the rehabilitation of her leg, she had seemed determined to avoid that particular part of the city.

The steel and colored glass doors opened with a soft whoosh in front of him and a cool breeze stroked his cheeks in a light, playful caress. The familiar smell of saltwater tickled his nostrils. He didn't step further, respectful of Elizabeth's privacy and of the deep meaning the place held for her.

He spotted her at the railing, in the obligatory fatigues and red shirt, her weight resting on her good leg. She didn't seem to be aware that she was being watched.

He cleared his throat. "Elizabeth!" She turned around and smiled when she saw him. He smiled back. "What did I tell you? You don't want to put too much strain on that leg." He saw her roll her eyes and give a last look at the sea before she left her guarding spot and walked up to him, limping imperceptibly.

"My leg is fine Carson, really. You worry too much." She cocked her head to the side, her eyes reproachful and amused at the same time.

He looked upwards and shook his head. "You're one to talk about worrying too much."

Her gaze went to the floor, one corner of her mouth channelling the lift of her eyebrows. "Touché."

"Where did you leave your wheelchair?" His eyes roamed the control room, but he couldn't see it anywhere.

"My quarters." She bent her arm, her elbow pointing upwards and waited for him to link his arm with her before they started walking back to the residential area of the city. "You can see the new tower from the balcony now. It's truly beautiful." She said, that hint of pride that always showed up whenever she talked about Atlantis etched in her voice.

He nodded his agreement. The use of Asuran technology to repair the damaged sections of the city had been widely discussed and quite controversial, even after General Carter and her team had tested and approved McKay's improved replicator blocks.

"Looks like things are settling, finally. It's been a bumpy couple of months for everyone." And that was a euphemism. A scientist wearing a Greek flag on his arm walked past them, going in the opposite direction, and he bowed his head at the both of them, a kind smile on his lips. They returned the greeting.

"On that you're absolutely right. But yes, I've noticed that the atmosphere around here is more… relaxed, perhaps?" Elizabeth frowned lightly, nodding back towards the control room they'd just exited.

"I think they're just happy to see their leader up and about and with a smile on her face. Your speech yesterday was beautiful. And I'm incredibly glad to see you back on your feet."

"Well, I thought I was going crazy in that bed. The walls in this city don't even have cracks to count." She joked lamely and bumped shoulders with him as they took a right turn from the main corridor and met the first of the long row of doors, indented on both sides of the large passageway at regular intervals.

"I honestly hope to God that you'll stay healthy for the rest of your life and I'll never have to see you again in my infirmary as a patient."

She laughed quietly and Carson thought she was beautiful. She had regained a few sorely needed pounds since the end of the war, and her cheekbones were still a little flushed from the morning sea breeze. She was letting her hair grow again and, while it wasn't much longer than two months ago, her curls looked thicker and more animated when her head moved.

"That bad?"

He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Believe me, there was a reason I didn't object when you asked me for a laptop."

She shot him an incredulous look, her eyes gleaming. "I can't be worse than Rodney?"

"Oh, I'm inclined to say you were worse than John." He realized his mistake the moment Sheppard's name left his mouth. His name wasn't a taboo in the city, far from it, but after two mere months, the wound was still fresh for all of them and he was painfully aware of having killed one of Elizabeth's still sporadic good moods.

He saw her struggle to keep the smile on her face and fought the urge to apologize. "I find that difficult to believe." She waved a hand in front of the crystals and the doors to her quarters slid open. The wheelchair was resting next to the impeccably made bed, an open book abandoned on the seat.

He'd been there every day since she was discharged from the infirmary during the long therapy hours, and since the day she was allowed to leave the chair, he's never found a single grain of dust in the room.

"Are you going back to your office?" They had moved her desk to a corner of the control room, putting together a makeshift, temporary office until she could retake possession of the one upstairs.

"Yes, I have a meeting with Dr. Rowland in twenty. Are we still on for dinner tonight? Or are you going to abandon me just because I can stand on my own two feet now?"

Their weekly dinner was the peak of his week. It had started with him sharing his mother's cookies with Elizabeth when she looked particularly depressed, or after a straining therapy session, and it progressed to the silent agreement that Thursday was their dinner night, be it in one of their quarters, the mess hall, or her office when she needed to work.

"Of course not. Seven thirty, my quarters?"

"Can I walk to your quarters?" She asked hopefully.

"Permission granted." He conceded.

A second later he found himself holding an armful of Elizabeth Weir.

"Thanks for everything you've done for me." She whispered, her arms curling around his neck. Her curls tickled his jaw and her chin dug in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

He placed his hands tentatively on her back and pulled her closer, accepting the offer of friendship and responding with the amount of feeling he knew she could handle, and no more.

She was very slim; small even, compared to his size, and soft and warm against him. "You know how much you mean to me." He said as he released her, and thought that probably, she didn't know just how much.

Two years after the Lantean alliance defeated the Wraith, Atlantis and the Pegasus Galaxy were thriving.

The city was once again swarming with personnel; everyone was going somewhere and had something to do, just like at the beginning of their adventure. But there was less urgency in their stride now, more time to enjoy the process of doing, rather than rushing to get to a result that may, or may not, save their lives and keep the city upright.

Accidents still happened and their quest for more ZPMs never ceased, but things were going pretty smoothly for everyone. They stood silently, watching the tall monument that bore the names of all the expedition members who had perished in the war. The grey marble and the gold engravings stood out against the darker steel greys and blues of the control room, as a remainder to all those who arrived that if the galaxy was a safer place now, it was thanks to the sacrifice of all those men and women; soldiers and civilians.

8-year old Charin looked at the names with a solemn air, her small hand gripping her mother's tightly, and then she placed the flowers she had picked on the mainland at the foot of the monument.

"I'm sure John will like the flowers." Teyla said to her daughter as they walked back to the rest of them. She wiped a tear with the back of her free hand.

Charin smiled. "They were his favorites, I remember that. But I'm sure there are plenty more where he is now, aren't there, mom?" She looked disappointed now, her dark eyes clouding.

"Yes, but these are coming from you; he will love them more than all the others." Teyla said, and that seemed to cheer the girl up a little.

"I can't believe it's been two years already." Teyla spoke again, this time to the group of adults. Full Colonel Cameron Mitchell, the new military commander, nodded softly but didn't say anything. Carson believed he was feeling a little out of place, commemorating a victory he didn't witness, and the death of his predecessor.

"Time flies." Rodney commented, taking a sip from his champagne flute.

"Just like your hair." Carson said, tilting his chin towards McKay's receding hairline. That awarded him a glare from Rodney, and a smile from the rest of the team, including Elizabeth. He squeezed her shoulder for emphasis, and also to offer a little comfort. This was a bittersweet day for everyone, but for their leader especially.

She had proved to be even stronger than all of them had believed, yet he knew that her thoughts were never far from the man to whom she didn't have the chance to say a proper goodbye. And, he was sure, so many other things.

"I hate to leave so early, but I need to go over some notes before I can approve tomorrow's mission." Elizabeth excused herself, smiling apologetically.

"The geology team again?" Ronon asked. "I can scare them into postponing the mission if you want." His eyes gleamed with badly concealed amusement.

"Thanks, but that won't be necessary." She declined the mock offer. "Yet." She added after further thought. "I'll see you in the morning at briefing. Goodnight. Goodnight Charin." She waved at the girl, who responded enthusiastically, then left.

"Beckett, you don't need to keep us company if you want to go." Mitchell said, nodding in the direction Elizabeth had just disappeared.

"I'll just give her some time alone." It wasn't a secret that Elizabeth had been sharing her quarters with him for several weeks. They'd always been discreet, hesitating in making the news public just as they'd moved slowly and carefully through the various stages of their relationship, since the night, some six months earlier, when their lips joined, almost casually, in her quarters after one of their dinners.

Mitchell understood, and invited him to join them for a game of poker.

He left a couple of hours later, two jars of his mother's jam and his TV room privileges for the week now in the hands of Vala Mal Doran, to find Elizabeth huddled under the covers of their bed, engrossed in one of his books. Ambient music played softly in background.

"Hey." She greeted him, lifting her eyes from the book.

"Hey." He echoed, bending to kiss her. He tasted the faintest hint of her toothpaste on her lips. "All set for the mission?"

"Yes, I've e-mailed all the team members the departing hour. Lorne will be accompanying them."

She tilted her head upwards and captured his lips in another, deeper, kiss. "Where have you been?"

"Mitchell's quarters, losing all my supplies at poker." He draped his jacket across a chair and started working at the knot of his tie.

Elizabeth snorted. "Not the cookies I hope."

"Just the jam." He folded his pants on the seat of the chair and slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He made a quick job of brushing his teeth; the Lantean autumn was fading into winter, and he was craving the warmth of the bed and of Elizabeth's body.

"Cold?" She queried as he found shelter under the covers. He rolled onto his side and curled around her, his arm flung protectively over her stomach. "Yes."

"I was expecting more from a Scotsman like you." She relaxed in his hold and smiled when he kissed her temple. She slid a postcard between the pages as a bookmark, and placed the book on the bedside table. She moved about a little, finding a comfortable position for the night.

"You know, I was reading that one."

"You can have it back when I'm done with it." She tucked her head under his chin, and her hand found his on her hip. "Thanks for giving me some time to myself today. I needed it."

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, and kissed the top of her head.

"Don't mention it."

The lights dimmed to a comforting bluish glow. Elizabeth let her eyes slip shut and released the remains of the day's tension with a long sigh. The soft, monotonous buzz of the city, always alive around them, lulled her gently to a drowsy state and broke a silence that would have been too deep for her to bear. Carson's arm on her stomach became progressively heavier, sign that he was falling asleep.

It would have been all too easy to indulge in forbidden fantasies on that day; to take advantage of the fine, misty line between life and sleep she was walking and imagine it was another set of arms holding her; another warmth keeping her from the chill of the night; another stubble prickling the skin of her cheek. She shook the dream away before it could take shape in her mind: it wouldn't do her any good to live in the past, and it would be unfair to Carson.

His presence was warm and solid beside her, in more ways than just the physical, and Elizabeth loved him dearly. More than she thought herself able to, after an ordeal that had lasted a full decade and had left her heart shattered in a million pieces.

She stretched a little against him, as if making sure that he, at least, was real, and when sleep came to claim her, she didn't resist.


End file.
